


Tryst

by aeber



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon, Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, disclaimer: i have not finished playing shadow dragon, probably someone he recruited along the way, unnamed partner???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 11:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeber/pseuds/aeber
Summary: Inspired by how horny Marth's voice actor in smash ultimate is. marth is a bottom, you can't change my mind





	Tryst

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this instead of counting down to the new year lol (i'm so sorry it's second person I just don't ship him with anyone)

His touch is silver. His eyes are gold. He sprawls in front of you, breathing heavily, skin flushed as he shifts his legs apart. Together. He’s already half hard, pressed against his stomach, twitching scandalously. He waits. But you know he cannot wait much longer.

You brush his cheek with your thumb, heated scarlet and kiss him, gently, melting your tongue into his. He whimpers appreciatively into it, yearning for more with each gasp of air. He chases after your lips like a drowning man chases for air. When he breaks apart the string of saliva glints in the chill, yet his body feels hot, burning in desire. He leans in, grasping at you for support. His mouth crashes into yours and you understand. There’s some clashing between teeth, grazing his lips slightly, not enough to draw blood. Enough to leave him breathless, his lower lip swollen, against his pale skin.

You begin trailing down his neck. Wherever your mouth goes bruises blossom into view. The sounds he make is enough to make you strain against the fabric of your breeches. He stifles himself by biting into his hand, and you shake your head, telling him you want to hear him. Hear the wind catch in his throat as you worship his neck, his collarbone, down his sternum to the dip of his navel. There you return, pinching a nipple in your hand and placing your mouth on the other. The words stumble out of him, collapsing into a jumbled heap. You bite. He arches his back, moans delightfully, and you can feel the wetness of his cock beading on his stomach.

His sides are littered with slivers of scars. Some old, some new, some made by your own hand. Try as you might, you can’t help but feel guilty about those; you trace them, lightly kissing each, as if that would undo the pain. He cracks open an eye and runs a hand through your hair. You can hear the smile in the way he comforts you. You don’t deserve him.

You shift your attention to the problem leaking over his skin. After a tentative lick you smear it to the base and cup his testicles, rolling them as you take the tip into your mouth. He reacts instantly, thighs quivering, the fingers threaded in your hair tightening. A few swirls later you try digging your tongue into the slit, earning yourself a hard pull and a breathy moan. Emboldened, you take him farther up his throat. Your fingers part his attempt to close his legs together, grip the sensitive flesh with your nails and knead them, till he’s on the verge of orgasm, trembling under your ministrations. You pull away, touch your lips to the head and reach for the oil. Only then it dawns on you that you are still fully clothed, and him baring himself to you. 

He closes the distance. The circlet he always wore had been discarded somewhere amidst the pile on the floor, leaving his hair a mess, strands of blue clinging to the back of his neck and down his forehead. You’ve always found the color, the color of royalty, beautiful. He brings himself to undress you, peels each layer off and unceremoniously dropping them onto the wooden floor. Your skin seems to steam in the air. He doesn’t need to touch you at all. But he does, for the sake of it, the friction bringing you to the realization you were to the point of aching.

Ultimately, he grabs the vial first. Uncorks it, letting it drip over his fingers lasvisciously. You reach for him. He holds you back. He slips a finger in and his eyes flutter, releasing a breathy sigh. It’s a sight. Twisting in the sheets, on his knees, his cock straining and dribbling onto himself. Slender, yet taut with muscle, nipples pert and wet with your spit. He shifts to give you a full view, of the blush on his cheeks and the curve of his ass. Better more, he inserts another finger and shudders when his nails reach the spot. You can see his eyes glaze over as pleasure jolts up his spine. He repeats this several times before the third, where impatience takes over and he straddles you, hands on your shoulders, eyes on your cock. He lowers himself, slowly, onto your length. Gods, but he’s tight. The ring of muscle gives way to the impossible heat inside. His walls are soft, velvety. Buried to the hilt he glances up to you. You murmur praises into his ear, stroking him, admiring the giddy look on his face. He starts moving again. 

He begins by easing himself into a steady rhythm, slow and sweet. You brush against the spot and he gasps in reply. Eventually he picks up the pace. Your hips buck involuntarily to his enthusiasm and he lets out a choked cry. I’m close, he whispers. You find it endearing that he phrases it like a question. So you do nothing but give him an answer: not yet. Wait for me.

For a brief moment you wonder if physical stamina is linked to vigor in bed. Your musings are dispelled, however, by his voice.

Rougher. Harder. I can take it.

It’s hushed. As if he’s embarrassed to say it, the plea tumbling out of momentary boldness. It’s all you need. You push him onto the sheets. He writhes under you. You take the opportunity to kiss him all while guiding yourself to his entrance, then pushing yourself in. You leave his lips to heave his legs over your shoulders and thrust in, hard. He cries out, in pleasure and pain. Forcefully you do it again, angling to send him spasming. It takes nothing but another thrust to tip him over the edge. He comes without warning, voice singing your name as white spills over his abdomen and chest. You fuck him through his orgasm, mercilessly pounding into his oversensitive haze as he fails to suppress his moans. There is nothing left but his loud mewls and the obscene slapping of skin on skin.

You flip him over. He does so obediently. You see that his cock is flush again. This time you ram into him, over and over again. He pushes up to you in tandem to your movement. Pleasure rocks down your hips and you slap his ass without thinking. He moans and shakes. Harder. It leaves an angry red mark. You strike him again in time with a powerful rut of your hips and white blankets your vision. Fire rockets down your spine. It lingers, several seconds as your mind blanks and you gasp his name. From the tremors seizing his body you can tell he’s close. You finish inside of him. He jerks beneath you and comes with a strangled sob.

You collapse into him in a tangle of limbs. Is he crying? You soothe him with feathery touches along his cheek. The taste of salt is there. Panic briefly crosses your mind before the sound comes across as his laughter. As you get up to clean things up, he drags you down with a slight tug. In defeat you surrender to his shy will and kiss him, right as he kicks the soiled covers away and you pull up another spare one stacked beside the bed. The lamp flickers into darkness. He’s still. He’s awake, by the way he’s breathing. You let him lay beside you and wrap an arm around his waist. He nuzzles to the crook of your neck and throws his arm over your chest.

His embrace is warm in the cold of war, and yours to him shelter from the weight of the crown.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos give me life


End file.
